


What Waits Vengeance

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gun fights, Hurt/Comfort, Kisses, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Whump, samaritan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 20:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: "Samaritan had found their headquarters… they stormed the subway… a phone call from the machine 4.3 minutes before they entered was the only warning that the team had received and not a lot of time to secure everything. "





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to M_E_Lover for the beta and being amazing!

When it was all said and done… John was laying on the ground, glass in his back, blood dripping down his face, and his head throbbing. He was pretty sure he had a bullet lodged in his shoulder, but he couldn’t think through anything but the pounding in his head.

Samaritan had found their headquarters… they stormed the subway… a phone call from the machine 4.3 minutes before they entered was the only warning that the team had received and not a lot of time to secure everything.

Harold leaned into John’s line of vision, a concerned and terrified look on his face. “Can you walk?” He asked, holding out his hand for John.

John tried to focus through the pounding in his head, tried to get his bearings. He looked around, adrenaline was coursing through his veins, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he crashed…

Harold grabbed his arm, “Come on. We have to go…” His face looked calm suddenly, and John had wondered where the worried and scared face from earlier went. Harold seemed to have calmed down in mere seconds.

John allowed himself to be led up on unsteady legs, the whole room swayed as he stood up.

Harold led him out gingerly, his arm fastened around John’s waist, leading him to their car. He opened the door for John and shoved him in, making sure he was completely inside before he shut the door and limped heavily over to the driver’s side.

He looked over to see John staring down at the blood that covered his hands, dazed. John sat back and looked at Harold, who had a nasty bruise flowering on his cheek and broken glasses sitting askew on his face.

“Are you okay?” John asked him feeling his eyes starting to get heavy.

“I’m fine… just relax…” Harold said numbly, leaning over and pulling the seat belt over John. He set himself to that task and seemed to be in his own stupor, “I don’t know where to go, John…” Harold sat there, staring out the front window, his hand hovering over the ignition.

His voice wavered, and his eyes began to well up with tears, “I… I don’t know what to do…”

#

John woke up in the passenger seat. He looked out the window and the trees whooshing by made him sick to his stomach. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, pushing that feeling down. The last thing they needed was for him to get sick. He would need to be ready for anything. 

“Where are we?” John asked, sitting up. A sharp pull in his shoulder reminded him of the bullet wound there. He looked down to see a pressure bandage applied to it.

“New Jersey…” Harold didn’t take his eyes off the road, “I stopped at a not so favorable gas station and put bandages on your shoulder and your side…”

John just noticed that he had a heavy bandage on his side and his usual pristine white dress shirt was now covered in dark red, dried blood.

“Your side was bleeding badly… I couldn’t stop it… you’ll need stitches.” Harold looked like he was numb… his face was pale, and his glasses had a strip of tape wrapped around the nose piece. John didn’t know how he could see, let alone drive. 

“We can handle it when we get to…” John paused, realizing he didn’t know where they were going.

Harold spoke up when John looked at him, “We’re going to a motel… then after that… well I’m not quite sure…” His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white.

John didn’t say anything.

He wasn’t sure what they were going to do either. This was the first time in his life that he hadn’t had a plan… and he assumed Harold felt the same way. For two men who always seem to have a plan or a back up... they were utterly lost. 

“What about Shaw… Root?” John croaked.

Harold remained quiet. John saw him gulp, and his breath hitched for a moment.

Root had sacrificed herself, taking off to draw some of the operatives away from the subway. Shaw had followed after her at John’s order.

They had no idea where they were.

No idea if they were still alive.

“I don’t know…” Harold finally whispered. His eyes remained fixed on the road. His sight suddenly darted to the rearview mirror at the sound of sirens behind them.

John’s fight or flight response kicked in. His hand reaching for his gun. Harold looked at his partner, seeing what he wanted him to do.

John swallowed, “Pull over… Maybe they’ll just go past us…”

Harold took a deep breath, his shaking hands maneuvered the car over to the side of the road. The red, white, and blue lights got closer and closer, John’s hand resting on his Sig Sauer in his waistband. He doubted he’d be able to get very far in a fight, with the shape he was in physically… but he would die trying if necessary.

Harold’s eyes darted between the mirror and his partner, looking for any signs that they needed to get the hell out of there.

He sucked in another deep breath and watched as the cop car flew by them. He let out the breath, his head falling against the steering wheel.

John huffed, clicking the safety back on, on his Sig. The pounding in his head returned and his hands flew to his temples.

Harold reached for him, “John?” His voice heavy with concern. “What is it?”

John took a deep breath, calming himself. “I’m… fine… just a headache…” He opened his eyes and looked at the older man, concern etched into his face. “Let’s get moving…” He smiled. It felt wrong, given the situation… but he needed Harold to calm down.

Harold closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Okay… we’re almost there…”

#

They pulled into the motel parking lot and Harold took the key out of the ignition. He sat there for a second, staring at the front entrance.

“I’ll go in…” John spoke up, unbuckling his seatbelt and sitting up to open the door.

Harold put his hand out to stop him. “You can’t be serious… You can’t go in there looking like that… I’ll be right back.”

Harold swallowed nervously and took a moment to steady himself, then opened the door, got out and limped toward the front desk. Once he was in the lobby, John pulled down the visor and looked into the mirror. Harold was right. He looked like something out of a horror movie. He now knew why his head hurt so bad. There were bruises all along the right side of his face and jaw. His eyebrow had been split open and was being held together by butterfly strips that he had no clue where Harold had gotten. His lip was split. He had a black eye and he couldn’t imagine what the rest of his body looked like.

Harold came out of the lobby with a key in his hand and John noticed that his limp was much more pronounced than normal and that he grimaced every time he seemed to move.

“Okay. We’re in the back… I gave the young man a hefty tip to keep maid service and such away… but I’m afraid I don’t have much petty cash left…” He pulled the car around to the back of the motel.

He helped John to the door and fished the room key out of his pocket. Sliding it in and listening for the _beep_ , he opened the door. “You need a shower…” Harold said, setting the few things he had from the subway onto the bed. “Come on…” Harold said gently, noticing the exhausted, pained look on John’s face. He lead John into the bathroom, helping him to sit down on the commode. “I’m going to check you out first…” Harold remarked. He set a bag onto the counter, what John assumed was a first aid kit. _When did he get that?_

Harold helped John out of his undershirt, carefully lifting his arms over his head and gently tugging it off, careful of the bandage already wrapped around his side.

“Oh my…” Harold remarked worriedly, the sight of the glass shards still embedded in John’s back made him grimace. “I need to take these out…” Harold’s shaking hands grabbed the tweezers out of the bag of supplies. He looked at John nervously, who gave him a pained nod to continue.

#

Harold’s complete concentration was on removing the tiny pieces of glass from his partner’s back. The cuts on his back were bleeding more now, he wouldn’t need stitches for any of them… but he’d need a lot of bandages.

“Still doing okay?” Harold asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

“Perfect…” John hummed. He had actually almost fallen asleep a few times. Harold was working with incredible care. John couldn’t really even feel anything. “How about you?” he asked, noticing Harold’s pale, sweaty appearance.

“I’m fine…” He removed the last piece of glass he could see and ran a piece of gauze over the blood dripping from the cuts. He picked up the bandages and started applying anti-bacterial cream to the deeper ones.

John sat through it, a stoic expression on his face. Once Harold finished, he tried to get a look in the mirror. “Looks good…” He said noticing the large bandages covering what looked like his whole back.

“I can stitch up your side now…” Harold ran his hand over his face, grimacing and gasped in pain as he touched the bruising on his cheek.

John frowned and moved over to him, putting his hands on his shoulders gently. “I can do it… wouldn’t be the first time.” He smiled softly, “Did you by chance grab any of your pain killers on the way out? I know you’re hurting…”

Harold frowned, “One of them... It was in my briefcase… I grabbed that, my laptop, the first aid bag, and some cash…”

John smiled and pressed a kiss to Harold’s forehead, “Okay… I’ll stitch myself up, you go take some medicine. I’ll be right out…”

Harold frowned, “You can’t possibly do this yourself… I’ll be fine.” He grabbed the first aid kit and got out the necessary supplies for stitches, “Come on… sit down.” He motioned for John to sit on the toilet seat again. He knew there was no point in arguing, Harold always won out.

#

John fell onto the bed absolutely exhausted. His mind was slow and he felt lethargic. The cuts on his back were starting to burn and his eye had all but swollen shut. He groaned and rolled over onto his uninjured side, watching his partner.

“I’m going to take a shower…” Harold said absently, a towel from the bathroom was slung over his shoulder. “Here…” He handed out his hand, palm up, toward John.

John cracked open his eyes and looked at the pill staring back at him, “No…” He said matter of factly. “I’m fine. You need those more than I do.”

“Please John…” Harold started to argue, but John just put his hand up, stopping any protest before it started. He shut his eyes again and sunk further into the bed. It was a cheap, motel bed… but he was so exhausted he didn’t care.

Harold turned around in defeat and limped into the bathroom, shutting the door and turning on the shower.

He let the room fill with steam, his broken glasses fogging up before he removed them. He regarded them in his hand for a moment, a frown coming across his face. He had always liked this pair… now he’d have to get a new pair… if they could ever go out in public again.

Their cover identities had to have stayed intact. There was no way they would have made it this far if Samaritan could see them.

He removed his sweat, blood, and dirt covered clothes and gingerly stepped into the shower. He stood and let the hot spray beat down on his back, his head resting against the wall. He hoped that the heat would relax the muscles in his neck, but it didn’t seem to be working. His face throbbed where he had been punched by a Samaritan op earlier.

He felt awful not being able to help John at all. He tried to hold his own… but he was knocked unconscious by an operative only minutes after they had arrived. John was forced to take them on all by himself.

He managed… but not without great injury.

Harold turned the shower off, the sudden loss of heat making him shiver.

Once he was dressed again in his boxers and undershirt, he looked in the mirror to check his face. It was already heavily bruised and hurt when he brushed his fingers over it lightly. He had a flashback suddenly to just hours earlier when he saw them coming down the steps to the subway. The sinking feeling in his chest that threatened to strangle him, returned.

He tried to take a deep breath, but he choked. His heart started to pound in his chest and head and he couldn’t calm down.

He grabbed for the door handle with trembling hands and opened it. “J… John…” he called out. His vision was whiting out when he vaguely realized he was having a major panic attack.

“Harold?” John was at his side in seconds. Harold wanted to be surprised, given the man’s injuries. But he couldn’t be… this was John he was talking about. Harold couldn’t speak. His throat was dry, and he could hear his heart hammering in his ears. “Harold… Look at me…”

John’s eyes were soft and attentive. Harold almost got lost in them for a moment and realized that his breathing had calmed down. “I can’t do this… they’re going to find us… The Machine… Miss Shaw and Miss Groves…” Harold had tears in his eyes, “This is all my fault. I should never have brought any of you into this!”

John pulled him in close, “This is not your fault…” He ran his hands up and down Harold’s back gently, “Don’t even think that. We chose to help you, Harold. Because we knew it was the right thing to do.”

Harold picked his head up and looked John in the eyes, “If this gets you killed… I’ll never forgive myself…”

John wiped the tears from his cheeks, careful of the injured area. “Stop it. We’re going to figure everything out and we’re going to take those bastards down.”

Harold couldn’t help but smirk.

“But first we need rest, okay?” John lead Harold over to bed and they both laid down. The exhausting day had physically and mentally drained them both. Bone weary and tired, they both slipped into a restless sleep.

#

John shot up suddenly in the middle of the night. What he’d thought of as his sixth sense, something that he’d seemed to have acquired from being an Army Ranger, was screaming at him to get moving.

He jumped out of bed and saw a black SUV sitting about 20 ft from their hotel room. 

Harold had woken up as soon as John had sat up in the bed and he was staring at him with wide eyes and concern etched into his face.

“We have to go…” John said, walking over to his partner. “Get dressed. We’re going to sneak out the back window.”

Harold gulped seeing the look on John’s face, “How’d they find us?”

“I don’t know. That’s not important right now…” John shrugged on his dress shirt. It was still wet from the sink wash he’d given it after his shower. He’d tried to get the blood stains out somewhat without much luck, but it would have to do for now.

Harold stood as still as a statue. He was in shock, but John needed to get them out of there and fast. He didn’t have time for Harold to freeze up. As terrible as it sounded, he had to get Harold moving. “Harold! Get dressed.” He peaked out of the curtain again, two men were getting out of the SUV. He spotted handguns under both of the men’s coats. They were armed with more, but he didn’t make time to look.

“We need to go.” He shoved his gun into the small of his back and grabbed Harold’s arm as he was shoving everything he had in his briefcase. “Harold!”

“I’m not leaving my laptop! It’s our only chance!” Harold put the computer into his case and grabbed the handle just in time as John yanked him to the back of the room and opened the window.

“I’m going to go first then I’ll help you out, okay?” John said, stepping out the window.

Harold was going to have a hard enough time getting through the small window. His body just didn’t move like that anymore. Let alone the fact that it was about a 5-foot drop to the ground.

Once John was through and on the ground, he called to Harold to come through. But just as Harold maneuvered himself up and onto the window ledge, the door busted open and a shot rang out.

Harold ducked, his head hitting the window.

John fired two shots through the opening, taking one of the men down. But the other quickly fired off another and to John’s horror, just as he was pulling Harold through the window, he felt him lurch forward with an audible yelp, and his face screwed tight in pain.

They both fell to the ground, Harold on top of John. He groaned, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps. John rolled him over and got him to his feet, examining the bullet wound in his upper back. There was no exit wound and John cursed under his breath.

Harold’s eyes were watering, and he murmured something in protest John couldn’t quite make out as they started staggering for a car John spotted in the back parking lot. “I know… I’ve got you… just hold on…”

John basically dragged his partner toward their only hope of getting out of there; Harold’s legs didn’t seem to want to work. Suddenly he heard another gunshot and a whizzing noise go right past his head. He turned, his sharp movement causing Harold to stumble and fall to the ground.

He squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet through the man’s head and he twisted and fell heavily to the ground. He thought they were through, but three more men came around the side of the building, sending off shots in their direction.

He looked at Harold, who was still on the ground and now struggling to pull himself toward the car. He was almost there.

John took cover behind a tree, hoping for one of the men to get close enough to them that he could grab him. He was hidden enough that a man came to within his grasp and got close enough that he managed to grab him and get him in a headlock. He twisted hard and a loud ‘snap’ could be heard then operative fell lifeless to the ground.

With the other two closing in he moved out and took two shots, both hitting one of the men and causing him to fall to the ground, grasping his knee and shoulder in pain. The other raised his gun at John, but didn’t get the chance to pull the trigger as John had already put one between his eyes.

John turned around to see Harold trying desperately to pull himself up and into the car with his arms but to no avail. The ex-op ran over to him, picking him up and pulling him into the car. “Can you move your legs?” John asked quickly. Praying that the bullet hadn’t hit Harold’s spine. The entry point didn’t look like it would have, but it could have moved and traveled once it entered the smaller man’s flesh.

“I… I think so…” Harold murmured, lifting his feet up a little bit per John’s request. The younger man belted Harold in and ran over to the driver’s side. He quickly hot wired the car and they sped off.

John could feel the hot, sticky blood dripping down his back. The cuts from earlier had broken open again and were covering his back in blood.

He looked over to Harold, who had a pained look on his face. He was sweating, and his breathing was shallow. He needed to get the bullet out, but he had to make sure they were far enough away from the motel. Samaritan was no doubt sending more goons after them.

And he had no idea how they had found them in the first place.

“John… what are we going to do…?” Harold whispered from the passenger seat. A grimace came to his face from the effort it took to talk.

“I need to get us off the grid, so I can patch you up…” John said absently. He saw an opening ahead of them and maneuvered the car down the rocky, dirt road. He saw a gated entrance into a property in the woods and pulled over. He parked the car on the side of the road. He turned toward his wounded partner, “I’ve got to get out and unlock the gate, just hold on for me Finch.”

Harold nodded and closed his eyes, wincing from his injuries and exhaustion.

He got the gate opened and could see that it led to a hunting cabin but it wasn’t anywhere near hunting season and they weren’t planning on staying here long. Hopefully no one would be there or be coming anytime soon.

He drove the car down the two-track driveway until he thought they were far enough into the woods and stopped the car.

Harold opened his eyes and looked around dazedly, surveying the endless patch of trees and darkness that surrounded them. John got out of the car and opened the back door. “I have to get a look at your wound,” he began. “We have to get you in back so you can lay down and I have a little light to see with.” He looked at his poor partner, “I’m sorry,” he stated regretfully and prompted Harold to maneuver out of the front seat and into the back.

Once he had Harold inside and laying on his stomach, he grabbed the well supplied first-aid kit out of the glovebox.

Thank God that Harold had managed to grab it before they left. “This is going to hurt…” John declared sadly as he wiped down a small pair of pointed forceps from the med kit with anti-bacterial wipes. The wound didn’t look too deep and with any luck he’d be able to extract the bullet with the meager equipment they had. He had to try to anyway.

“What…” Harold’s eyes grew wide when he saw what John was getting ready to do. “What are you doing?” He gulped knowingly.

“There’s no exit wound, Harold. I have to get the bullet out…” John’s face was impassive and calm, even though he was screaming inside for his partner. He hoped that Harold would be able to handle it. He honestly hoped he’d just pass out from the pain once he got started, since there was no anesthetic to give him.  

He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. Harold’s hands were shaking now, and his back had been bleeding steadily since John had gotten him in the back of the car.

“Take a deep breath for me and try to stay as still as you can manage,” John instructed him.

“Okay…”

Before John started, he took his billfold out and showed it to his partner, “Here… bite down on this…”

Harold sighed and let him put the leather wallet between his teeth, then buried his face into the crook of his arms. The thick implement shoved between his teeth made it somewhat harder to breathe. Then John dug into the hole in his back and all he could feel was excruciating pain.

He struggled... reflexively trying to sit up, but John had him pinned down with his elbow and the searing hot agony that lanced through his back and shoulder was enough to make him wish they had just captured him. His cries of pain were softened by the leather shoved in his mouth and his teeth were clamped down hard. He screamed, his head thrown back as far as it was able, the pain becoming too much.

John kept murmuring that he was sorry as he continued probing for the bullet as quickly as he could. He found it and it was almost out but all Harold could concentrate on was the stabbing, unbearable pressure. He had tears of agony in his eyes as John focused on hurried his task.

Then he heard John huff and he released the weight he had to hold Harold down with to prevent him from struggling too much. “There… got it…”

Harold just laid there, panting through the pain and slowing his breathing down while John patched the wound as best as he could and covered it with bandages.

Then John helped his partner sit up, his arms under Harold’s, and held him against his chest. “I’ve got you…” He murmured in his ear. Harold was rapidly losing his grip on consciousness and his head started to get fuzzy. He noticed John going through what was left of the bandages and anti-septic from the first-aid bag, taking inventory he imagined.

He looked up at the younger man and then his eyes were too heavy, and they slid shut, his head falling limply to rest on John's shoulder. The pain giving him a short reprieve from their crazy, terrifying journey.   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well it's been like two months but I'm trying to get back into this one! Hope you enjoy!   
> Thanks to M_E_Lover for the beta as always!!

John picked Harold up as gently as he could and carried him into the cabin. A few soft grunts and groans of pain were all that Harold let out throughout the transfer from the car to the small wooden cabin. John tried as best he could to pick the lock without jostling his partner too much, but by the emotionless look on Harold’s face, he couldn’t feel a thing.

The cabin was bigger than it looked from the outside. It had a spacious living area with a couch, two chairs and an end table with a TV.

There was a kitchenette, that looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. John assumed this was either a forgotten property, or something that people only used maybe once a year. Luckily for them, they might be able to stay there for a while. But, he wasn’t sure if they _should_ stay there. If they were too close to the hotel, Samaritan would no doubt be searching every square inch within a 50 mile radius.

But he couldn’t afford moving Harold too soon and hurting him even further.

Plus, he still had no idea how they had found them in the first place.

There were what looked like two rooms and a bathroom. John made his way into one of the rooms and gently laid Harold onto the bed and pulled a blanket over the small, unconscious man.

He felt terrible for his partner. He should have lowered Harold out of the window first. The sight of him lurching forward with a grimace of pain etched into his face when he was shot was ingrained into his mind for all time. He didn’t know what they were up against, but the future was not looking bright for the two men. But no matter what, John would make sure Harold was safe.

John ran his hand through the older man’s hair, looking at him with a soft smile for a second before turning to search the cabin.

He searched the closet and the pantry, looking for anything that could help them. He found a few pieces of clothing, flannel shirts and jeans. They would be a little big for Harold, but it’d be better than what he had right now.

Food-wise, there wasn’t much. He found a few granola bars, crackers, and canned goods.

He plugged in Harold’s laptop to charge, hoping it hadn’t been damaged in the mad dash to the car and the ensuing gun fight. When John opened the laptop, he was surprised to see it immediately power up. A dark blueish, black screen stared back at him. When he went to turn away, a beep sounded from the computer.

John turned around, his brow raised. He saw a series of numbers and letters flash across the screen, and then the word, ‘ _Stay_ ,’ appeared on the screen. It disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

John knew it was the Machine. But how could it have contacted them? The servers were destroyed when Samaritan stormed the subway…

He let out a deep breath of air and ran his hand across his face. The Machine wouldn’t have contacted them if it was going to put them in danger, so at least that was a bit of a relief. He thought about waking Harold, but the older man had just been put through so much, he didn’t have the heart to.

After he set up a barricade at the front door and made sure that everything was locked and secure, he managed to get his back patched up as well as he could and stripped down to just his dress pants.

He needed sleep if he was going to be of any help to Harold at all in their current situation, but he also needed to be ready if Samaritan found them again, so he set everything on the table beside the small bed. Once he slipped under the blankets and snuggled in carefully next to his partner, he closed his eyes and drifted off to a light sleep.

#

Harold woke up slowly. His heavy eyes and the aching pain in his back made him grimace and attempt to drift off back to sleep.

But then he remembered where they were and what was happening and before he thought better of it, he shot up in bed, his breath suddenly coming short from both the pain and panic. He tried to take in a deep lungful of air but he couldn’t.

John walked into the room and saw what was happening. He quickly went to sit down on the bed next to Harold and put a gentle, calming hand on his shoulder.

“Hey… hey… I’m here… you’re okay…” John soothed calmly, trying to calm to frantic older man down.

Harold finally gulped in a deep breath of air and his shoulders slumped. The tightness in his chest and pain in his back subsided a bit. He looked at his partner and gasped out, “What are we going to do?”

“The Machine wants us to stay here…” John started, “I plugged in your laptop to charge last night and the word ‘stay’ came across the screen…”

Harold looked at his partner with his brow raised, “The Machine… but… how?” Harold couldn’t believe that it had survived… let alone was communicating with them.

“I don’t know, Harold… but right now we have to concentrate on healing up and making sure we stay off the grid. Once things die down a little… we can see if there’s some way we can try to get in contact with Shaw and Root… if they’re still…”

Harold put up his hand to stop him from talking, and stood up gingerly. His stomach growled, which made him realize he hadn't eaten in almost 24 hours, “Any chance you made breakfast?”

“Some cereal and orange juice is all we have for right now…” John frowned, knowing Harold had to be starving and he needed food to take his medication.

“That sounds perfect.” Harold smiled, “Let’s get some food in our stomachs and figure out our next move, shall we?”

#

Once the two men had eaten, John took to taking a walk-around and was checking out the perimeter. He hated to leave Harold alone, but he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t feel safe where they were.

The Machine had told them to stay for a reason.

Walking through the woods gave him a little time to think about what was going to happen next. He had to protect Harold at all costs… if that meant sacrificing himself… then so be it.

He could handle the torture. He’d done it before and he wasn’t afraid of death.

Harold had enough money and the resources that he could disappear forever. Nothing else would matter as long as it meant Harold got away safe.

He heard a twig snap and immediately stopped in his tracks. He was silent… searching his surroundings.

The hair on the back of his neck was standing up and he quickly turned around, gun raised.

He swallowed hard when he saw the unmistakable face of Jeremy Lambert staring back at him. His gun raised also… along with five other agents.

“Well… well… well…” Lambert smirked. “Put the gun down and we’ll take both you and your friend alive…”

“How do I know he’s still even alive?” John snapped, his sights focused on nothing but the head op.

Lambert pulled out his phone and showed John the live video of Harold sitting in a chair, hands tied behind his back and what looked like three or four more operatives standing next to him, their guns all pointed at him. Harold got out a strained, “Don’t do what they…” before one of the men elbowed him in the face.

John clicked his safety on and raised his hands in the air, surrendering. “Okay… Okay…”

Lambert motioned for two of his men to move forward and take John’s gun and tie him up.

Once his hands were secured behind his back and they were confident he wouldn’t play and tricks, the Samaritan agents started the trek back to the cabin. John berated himself for being so careless. There had to have been a tracker on one of them somewhere. Or they caught The Machines message…

They entered the cabin and John seethed at the sight of Harold’s back bleeding through his shirt. They had to have roughed him up somewhat before this. A bruise was forming around his eye from where the man elbowed him earlier.

John was roughly brought over and sat down in a chair in front of his partner. The look on his face was like he was utterly defeated. He frowned at John and mouthed, “I’m sorry…”

“Now. Let’s talk, shall we?” Lambert started, taking off his jacket. “I know that Mr. Reese here can withstand a pretty significant amount of physical pain. So torturing him for information to get what we want would be pointless.”

He turned and smiled at Harold, “But… you on the other hand… well I have it on good authority that you’re not fond of violence. Particularly when it’s happening to someone you love.” He looked to both men and smiled, “You see, Mr. Finch… I know that Mr. Reese is your Achilles heal… and I plan on using that to my full advantage.”

Lambert motioned for three of his men to tie John to the chair and tilt it backwards. One of the men trying to tie one of John’s hands down received a punch in the face, causing Lambert to pull out his gun and point it at Harold’s head.

“One more wrong move and Mr. Finch’s brilliant brain will be spattered all over the wall…”

John growled, but let himself be tied and leaned back in the chair. Once that was done, Lambert tossed a rag over his face and started to dump freezing cold water over his face without warning.

John withstood it for a while, but then his legs started to twitch and he started to cough and gasp for air. Every time he’d try to get a breath in, a wet, congested cough would come out.

Harold tried to look away, but his limited neck mobility wouldn’t allow it and the sounds John was making was enough to make him want to throw up.

Lambert stopped and pulled the rag off John’s face.

“We want you to help us with Samaritan, Mr. Finch…” He started.

“Don’t… Harold…” John coughed and gagged, not able to breathe properly. “Don’t…”

“With you’re expertise… Samaritan could save the world even more now than it already has…”

Harold looked him in the eyes, “I will not help you. So please. Let my friend go and just kill me now…” He was trying to come off strong, but inside he was dying. His entire body ached, and he could feel the sticky blood dripping down his back and sides. But the sight of John being tortured was far worse than any of that, it was almost too much.

“Wrong answer…” Lambert smirked and continued to poor the cold water over John’s nose and mouth.

His legs twitched and his body shook, trying desperately to get air into his lungs. Harold had almost had enough when Lambert stopped and looked at him. “Change your mind yet?”

As hard and painful as it was to have to witness John struggle, Harold swallowed hard and clamped his mouth shut.

“Well then… I guess we’ll have to kick things up a notch…” Lambert moved over to the side of Reese and unbound one of his hands.

John seemed so out of it and desperately trying to get air into his lungs, while coughing up water and phlegm, he didn’t even try to fight back. Then Harold saw him suddenly propel himself forward and head butt Lambert, a swift motion that Harold didn’t even realize was happening until John was on his feet, swinging the chair around and knocking out two of the other operatives.

Harold was helpless. He couldn’t move even if he tried.

Lambert was momentarily stunned, until he pulled his gun out of the small of his back and fired off one shot, hitting John in the shoulder and sending him to the ground for a moment.

The other operatives all took this as an opportunity to jump on John and hold him down. A knee in his back, his arms held down and a bullet in his shoulder, he didn’t really have anywhere to go…

“Now… that wasn’t very nice…” Lambert spit out blood and knelt down next to John. He shoved the butt of his gun into John’s bullet wound, causing him to scream in pain.

He then stood up and with John’s hand splayed out in front of him, Lambert stomped his foot down on top of it, no doubt breaking it.

John couldn’t hold the scream of agony that came from his mouth.

“Alright!” Harold shouted, not able to stand seeing his partner in any more pain… “I’ll do whatever you want… just please… stop hurting him…”

Lambert grinned.

John’s head fell to the floor, defeated.

“Well then… let’s get you out of here, eh?”

Lambert suddenly swung his foot around, hitting John in the face and knocking him unconscious.

Before Harold could say a word he felt a needle in the back his neck and barely had time to gasp in pain before darkness overtook him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Feedback are always greatly appreciated.

John woke up with a severe headache and when he tried to open his eyes, he realized one of them was almost completely swollen shut. He took a deep, calming breath. He was trying to take in his surroundings, but the piercing pain in his head was making it difficult to focus.

They were driving. The bumps and swaying motion was almost making him sick, but this was an opportunity to get away and he couldn’t let it get go. He looked around, searching for Harold.

He was sitting in the seat in front of him, his head hung down low to his chest, and John couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. He was leaning towards Harold being unconscious, his neck would be in too much pain if he was awake…

The two operatives that were sitting next to him, weren’t paying any attention to him whatsoever. He cleared his throat, hoping to spring some response from his partner.

But Harold didn’t so much as move.

He looked around covertly and noticed that the guy who was sitting next to Harold was asleep, and the driver wasn’t very alert. He tested the handcuffs that were securing his wrists, knowing that if he broke his thumb, he’d be able to get free.

With the immense amount of pain that was already coursing through his body, he dislocated his thumb without an issue, biting back a soft grunt of pain. He pulled his hand through one of the cuffs, carefully so as not to draw attention to himself.

Realizing he now had to get Harold’s attention, he cleared his throat again, but the smaller man didn’t flinch.

John took a deep breath, and decided that he couldn’t risk any of the operatives noticing him, so he would just have to do it without Harold’s knowledge.

He waited until he saw an opening, and as soon as he did, he sprang into action. He elbowed the operative directly next to him in the face, knocking him out. He grabbed his gun, using it to put a bullet in the other op’s chest.

The driver screeched the SUV to a stop just as John had finished choking out the op that had been sitting next to Harold.

“Harold, go!” John yelled, kicking his door open and jumping out to take out the driver.

Harold had come to in the midst of the fight and was lying on his side, trying to stay out of the way. He was wide awake now and frightened for John when he went for the last man left, the driver.

He rolled over and frantically opened the door, his hands still cuffed in front of him. He jumped out and fell to the ground, unable to get himself up for a second, before he pulled himself up with the help of the car door and started to limp as fast as he could into the woods.

He looked back, seeing John fighting with the man behind the wheel. Unwilling to leave John, he turned back and braced himself against a tree, out of sight.

He leaned against the tree trunk for support, his eyes closed and his breath coming in deep, ragged gasps. He gulped and opened his eyes to look back at John, as soon as he did, he saw that John had pulled the guy from the vehicle and had him in a head lock, then twisted, causing the operative to fall limply to the ground.

Harold looked away for a second. No matter how often John had to do this sort of thing, it never got any easier to watch. Watching someone lose their life was something that made a hole in his stomach. He couldn't imagine what John felt like... taking a life... He cleared that thought and started toward John, who was now collecting all the guns from the agents that he could carry and then took off toward Harold.

“Let me see your glasses,” John said, reaching for Harold’s spectacles. “They hacked the tracker in them. I don’t know how they knew about it… but that’s how they found us.”

Harold’s heart sank. John grabbed them and threw them on the ground, shattering them under his boot.

“John!” Harold yelped, grabbing his arm, “How am I supposed to see?”

John looked around, his instincts on high alert. “I’ll have to help you. But we need to get out of here now.” He freed Harold of the handcuffs by cutting the chain with a knife he pulled off one of the agents. “They’ll be here any minute when they figure out we got away.” He took Harold’s arm and started to lead him into the woods.

#

The walk was long and hard on Harold’s already taxed body. The uneven ground and tree branches sticking out from every which way were starting to take a toll on him. A few years ago, he would have loved to hike, go for a run, or just walk through the woods. But then a half-dozen pieces of shrapnel tore his body apart and it was now held together by metal plates and screws. Making it nearly impossible to do any of that. 

He kept his eyes forward, trying to see. His arm was locked with his partner’s. John just kept walking, his breath was coming in ragged gasps and he looked like he was about to collapse at any minute.

“John… where are we going?” he asked, letting out a labored and unsteady breath.

John didn’t answer him, just kept moving. Harold could feel the thrum of his heart hammering in his chest. He stopped walking and John almost fell on his face by the sudden halt.

“I will not continue walking unless I know where we’re going,” Harold stated, his arms crossed over his chest.

John ran his hand over his face, utterly exhausted. “I don’t know where we’re going, Harold… I don’t know where _to_ go.” He turned and looked through the trees, then his face went stoic and he walked in front of his partner and put his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders. “I’ll go back… draw them out… then you make a run for it. You can be in Canada by the morning if you get to the road,” John pointed in a certain direction. 

Harold took a sudden step back, “No.”

John frowned, “Harold…”

“I will not allow you to be so… selfish. We are getting out of this together. Now please… use some of your spy skills and get us out of these godforsaken woods.”

John chuckled a bit and ran his thumb over Harold’s cheek, “We have no money… no ID… nothing… What are we supposed to do?”

Harold felt tears at the corners of his eyes, “I don’t know, John! But we have to try! We can’t let them win… we can’t let all we’ve done… all the losses…” He gulped, “It can’t all be for nothing!” He felt his chest tighten at the thought of everything they’d been through. They had lost everything the day they were forced to abandon the library and start their new lives… if you could even call them lives…

And now this…

John smiled sadly, “Okay… come on. Let’s get back to the road and then we’ll find some place to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short escape chapter.
> 
> Once again, real life is a mess so I am not promising anything on when I'll get back to this. Thanks as always for reading along.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm closing this one for now. I hope to come back to it sometime.  
> Hope you've enjoyed it so far.
> 
> Special thanks to M_E_Lover for all the beta work!

Once they made it to the road, John started to get dizzy. It was no doubt from the lack of sleep, the concussion he more than likely had, and the other multiple injuries he was sporting.

He stumbled a bit, but Harold’s hand reached out and grabbed him quickly, steadying him. “John?” His voice was threaded with concern.

John took a deep breath and tried to gather himself, but the whole world was spinning out of control and he couldn’t seem to grasp on to anything to stop it.

He fell to one knee, trying his best to take a deep breath and stop his heart from racing; the world from spinning. Harold knelt next to him and tried to get him to look at him. John’s eyes gazed up for a moment, catching the concern etched in Harold’s face.

“John… look at me… what’s wrong?”

John tried to talk, but it was useless. He started to feel sick with how dizzy he was, his stomach roiled and he fought to hold back to urge to throw up.

His head started to pound and he closed his eyes, hoping the pain and dizziness would cease. But it just continued, he felt Harold’s hand at his neck, checking his pulse.

John wanted to chuckle and tell him he wasn’t dead yet… but he felt the darkness starting to creep up and he couldn’t keep it away, the urge to just surrender and drift off into nothingness was too much. Not even the thought of leaving Harold defenseless was enough to keep him conscious.

“John… please…” was the last thing he heard before he didn’t hear anything at all.

#

John came to slowly, his whole body ached. Something was restricting him from moving his arm. He cracked his eyes open, and found that the culprit seemed to be a sling. He rolled his eyes and gazed around the room. He was in what looked like a young girl’s room. There were posters of boy bands and actors on the walls among loads of flower stickers and a large pink fluffy rug sat in the doorway.

He sat up carefully, his whole body screaming at him when he did.

After seeing a body-length mirror on the other side of the room, he stood up and gingerly made his way over to it. He was shirtless, and in nothing but his boxers. He noticed that the bullet wound in his shoulder was rebandaged, the black and swollen eye looked like it had healed some, his torso was scattered with bruises, and his hand was wrapped in a brace.

As he was inspecting himself, the door to the room opened. John immediately, and reflexively readied himself for a fight.

“Oh… you’re awake.”

It was Harold.

“Where are we…?” John asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, he was starting to feel fatigued and sick again. “And where are my clothes…?”

Harold smirked, “You passed out on the side of the road. I didn’t know what to do… but about ten minutes later this gentleman pulled up out of nowhere and offered to help, he explained that he was a doctor. He wanted to take you to a hospital… but after a careful explanation… I convinced him to just take us somewhere safe. We’re at his vacation home in Maryland.”

John took a deep breath, he was considering their next move. “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” Harold murmured, looking down at the floor.

“Three days?!?!”

“You were in rough shape, John…” Harold gulped. “Without the right medical equipment… he couldn’t tell how serious your concussion was… or your other injuries. I thought I was going to lose you…”

John could tell that Harold was having a tough time with this. He usually didn’t let John see him like this unless it was bad…

As John was about to say something, a man walked into the room with a stethoscope around his neck and a glass and a pill bottle in his hands. “Ahh, you’re awake. Wonderful.”

The doctor was a taller, middle-aged man. He had light brown hair, wore glasses, and was unusually tan for someone who lived on the East Coast.

“You need to take this…” He motioned to the pill bottle. “Antibiotics. You’re shoulder wound was pretty infected when I got to you. It’s partly the reason you passed out.”

John looked at Harold as to ask him if it was alright to take the pills. If he could trust this doctor, make sure he wasn’t trying to drug him.

Harold nodded to John. Just slightly enough that only John would see it. Evidently he trusted the man.

John accepted the pills, swallowing them down with the glass of water the doctor had brought in. He was still trying to put everything together and gather his surroundings when Harold spoke up.

“Is he cleared to travel?” His voice was anxious and threaded with exhaustion. John hated that Harold had to go through the past three days alone.

“I would like him to stay in bed for at least another day or so. He needs to stay on these anti-biotics for a week or risk the infection coming back and worse this time.” The doctor was explaining some things to Harold but John just tuned him out. He had seen much, much worse and nothing was going to stop him from getting he and Harold the hell out of there and to somewhere safe.

“Listen, doc. I appreciate the concern, but we should go. Thank you for everything.” John went to stand up, but was abruptly stopped by the piercing pain in his head and the sudden urge to heave.

Both the doctor and Harold were at his side; Harold put his hand on John’s arm and lead him to lay down again in the bed and the doctor pulled out what looked like a small flashlight. He pointed it in John’s eyes, causing him to cringe away and groan in pain.

“Sensitivity to light and dilated pupils are all classic symptoms of a serious concussion. Not to mention the pain that just caused you to almost collapse.” The doctor pulled the blanket over his patient. “You’re staying here for another day at least. Your symptoms should start easing up with time.”

Harold looked at John and put his hand on his arm, squeezing in reassuringly.

The doctor put the flashlight away and stood up straight. “Listen. I don’t know what you two got in to or what you’re up to. But you seem like pretty decent guys. Hell, for all I know I could be harboring two fugitives. But Harold here doesn’t seem like the type to do jail time. So I’m hoping not.” He let out a breath, “But I took an oath, and that says that I need to help people. Which includes you, John. So please… just let me help you.”

John puffed out a breath of irritated air and narrowed his eyes at the doctor, “Alright…”

“Alright. I’ll be back with some pain meds then.” The doctor nodded to them both and headed out of the room.

John closed his eyes and let his body relax. He looked over at his partner, “So. What’d I miss?”

“Not very much…” Harold whispered, his eyes going to the ground, unable to look at John. “I’ve been sitting here with you… hoping that the door wasn’t busted down again…”

John frowned. He couldn’t imagine what Harold must have felt like when Samaritan found them at the cabin. He was unprotected, and completely vulnerable. And for someone like Harold, that had to have killed him.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the cabin, Harold… I should have never left you alone.”

Harold turned his attention back to his partner and smiled, “It’s okay… There was nothing you could have done.” Harold gulped and was silent for a moment, but then he spoke up, "So... what do we do now?"

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if or when I'll get back to this one, but I figured I'd just post what I have done.


End file.
